Short Story #3

A heart is pounding; palms are sweating; muscles pulsating; ears burning from the roar of voices that billow through the air, shattering his nerves as the time nears. A swell of water threatens to leak from his eyes when the air around him becomes consumed in smoke. Blink. Blink. Problem solved.
His fingers twitch with anticipation longing to join hold of their familiar friend; to feel the smooth timber neck fuse with his palm, cool and electrifying. Well worn Chuck Taylor’s tap to an unknown rhythm as he beats his heal into the hard surface he stands on. The brilliant lights beam down on the crown of his head; heat radiating from every bulb with each beam intensifying all his insecurities open for scrutiny. He shivers as a bead of sweat trickles down the crevasse between his shoulders. He waits.
A signal is all he has to wait for. That simple nod followed by the swift hand gesture that beckons him to his place. It’s waiting for that moment that gets him every time. The rush of air escaping through his lips, the blood that pounds through his ears, the butterflies that are filling his gut; they overpower his body with adrenaline. His eyes dart from face to face, searching through the glare for who he has to see, who he needs to see. He knows the time is coming, he just has to be sure that the time is right. He waits.
His pupils begin to throb as they dilate and contract adjusting to the lights that now flash around him. The butterflies seem to be determined to escape from the barricades of his stomach. The single bead quickly turns into multiple droplets as they continue to journey their way down his spine. Darkness engulfs him. The roar magnifies. Eyes twitching back and forth he rubs his sweaty palms on the rough jean that covers his thighs. He finds the face. After seconds that felt like hours of searching, he finds it. He locks his eyes on that sole face and waits. A nod followed immediately by a hand motion that tells him the wait is up. He begins to walk tentatively towards his destination, but his tentative steps are soon replaced by the wide strides of his confidence growing. He stops. The time is now.

She stood soaked by a mixture of rain and sweat and prayed the majority of which was her own, though she knew it was most likely not the case. Her deep navy blue Vans are now coated with mud swirls that matched the soles of peoples shoes from throughout the day. Her jeans are torn at the hem threatening to shred with the help of any misstep by her or someone around her. They are drenched all the way through to her clammy skin causing a shiver to run up her spine. Her favorite t-shirt now clings lifelessly to her body worn out from the unforgiving abuse of perspiration and precipitation.
As she waits, she searches for an opening in the mass to breathe fresh air and fix her soaked mound of hair. One presents itself to the right of everyone’s attention. She flips her head forward and ignores the complaints of bystanders as water splatters across them as it escapes from the tangled depths of her auburn hair. Using the band that strangles her wrist, she grasps her hair and winds it up in a swift pile on the top of her head. She then straightens herself up in time to move with the surge of the crowd. Feet trample across her toes, arms jab into the sides of her body, and hands grab her shoulders to keep balance. She stumbles slightly, but is able to brace herself against her surroundings. She knows the time is coming. So does everyone else. She pushes up onto her toes and cranes her neck above the heads that protrude in front of her sight, searching for the face that she knows so well. Her eyes scan to the left, to the right, repeatedly back and forth. Back and forth. She wipes her sweaty hands on her soaked jeans out of habit, scoffing for thinking it would make a difference. She waits.
The lights above her are flashing across the banners that line the walls, ricocheting off the beams and bars and each other. She continues her search. She uses her hands to lurch herself further into the depths of the crowd, only in hopes of finding his face. She stands eyes wide and crazed, jaw open, lips in a subconscious O. She needs to be closer. She lowers down to the flats of her feet and dips her right shoulder between the people that block her way. She slyly slips her way under and between the swarm of people, navigating each step with specific strategy. She stops when she is engulfed in darkness. Her eyes dilate in the dark searching for the motion that will lead her to him. It was time. It was really time. Her heart begins to pound a rhythm fast and furious. She returns to her position on the balls of her feet straining her short stature to be taller than her surroundings. Her ears buzz from the roar that engulfs her. She stares on. She waits. The buzz in her ears becomes a muffling silence. There is no one around her. It is just her and the dark space before her that hides the features of the man she knows so well.
The silence in her mind erupts into chaos when the strum of a guitar is amplified into a heart rattling note and the light; finally returns to illuminate what she longed to see, his face.

Community Involvement Idea

For my community involvement idea, I thought it would be really cool to host a Coffee Shop like show or even just a local band show at the American Legion or VFW in Norton.
I want to invite bands to play; it'd be preferable to have an acoustic set to open, or even a couple acoustic sets to perform while the bigger bands are setting up.
Since I started high school I wanted to have a battle of the bands.
By doing this I think I'll be able to host something that involves the community, my concept aswell as incorporating that original idea of a battle of the bands show is still there.

Also, since I'm president of my class I thought it would be a great opportunity to raise some money for the senior class, while also giving kids something to do one night of the week. :)

Abbey Road by Iain Macmillan

Pure simplicity is sometimes greater than intricacy when it comes to art. However some simplistic images are far from simple when given a second glance such as Iain Macmillan’s famous Abbey Road photograph of The Beatles, which has become one of the most mimicked and known album covers of all time.
As the album cover to the Beatles final album before their demise, it was important that the focal point be none other than the band members themselves. Macmillan was given a short time to photograph the band, leaving him with little options for a location. Choosing the zebra cross walk outside of the Abbey Road studio to be the basis of the shoot threatens the contrast that normally wouldn’t exist between John Lennon’s white out suit, however shadows from his body and shoe define exactly what needs to be defined. Though the background is no where near calm, it adds character to the image. A perfectly crisp clear blue sky harmonizes perfectly with the fresh green leaves that cover the trees that line the road to the horizon. The trees towering over the plethora of cars that line the roads edge, casting shadows over the sidewalks. A tourist staring at the scene from the shadows brings out the raw scene this was taken at. Perhaps the most memorable of the cars lining the street is the white Volkswagon beetle that is parked behind the band on the left hand side of the street. It gives the photo a time. It shows the era in which it was taken without the need of a date stamped on the bottom.
The juxtaposition of the band members is what draws the viewer into the focal point of the picture; though seemly spaced just right with each step in line, Paul McCartney’s step is off adding the effect of imperfect movement to the picture. It is not all just forced posing, but is in fact simple walking. One of the most intriguing aspects that one may over look, is again with Paul McCartney. He is bare foot and holding a cigarette in his hand, giving the allusion of the carefree spirit renounced by the band.
The colors of Abbey Road are again simple. The basic suits worn by the members along with the black and white of the road in the foreground are contrasted perfectly by the bright blue sky and deep green trees that top the picture. The time of day that the photo was taken (around 11:30 am) allows for the sun to perfectly highlight the entire road, specifically the band members as they cross the street. The tone of the picture is dated and hard to decipher from years of altering, but it gives off a classic vibe that can only be captured from a camera that uses film.
It would never be known that this photo was captured spur of the moment in a matter of ten minutes or so. Macmillan uses pure realism to draw in viewers, and oh the number of viewers that have been drawn in from this famous album cover!

A Penny's Worth

Those scrounged up pennies accompanied by clusters of lint particles, they are my breakfast. The popular duet of nickel and dime repeatedly plunging to the depths of my ragged top hat, they offer lunch. The quarters and Washington’s are what make a meal. Whether it is elegant dinning or a grocery supplied fruit, dinner is my favorite hour of day. The company is gracious and my presence is welcomed by friends, families and couples alike. People are laughing and smiling galore; intrigued, enchanted and celebrating their very existence in this world reassures a man that he is, in fact, doing his job.
I regret my decisions at times, what sane person wouldn’t? I lay awake allowing my mind to wander and wonder what would of happened if I hadn’t given up- if I hadn’t stopped caring. My life was different then, I was a different man who made different, immature decisions without a thought of the repercussions. The off the chart repercussions that rattled me right out of my world. Those repercussions that damaged my thoughts so extravagantly, so permanently; God I wish the seismometer detected those waves. Life would be different now, except I would still…love… dinner time.
These cords callous the heads of my fingers. They squeal with each slide of a finger; they squeal whether intentional or not. When strummed gentle vibrations tickle the ear of hopeful listeners that sit, intently searching for the next note. A sudden force from above the cord’s surface causes the string and its harness to collide. Waves of sound tumble through the air, harmonizing, blending and coordinating with the other keys floating bye.
My guitar is all that’s remained consistent in my life. The consistent sound, the consistent feel, the consistent comfort and joy- it is all I need to survive. I enjoy the joy I bring to my audience; it makes me happy to see them happy. They say each time you laugh you add a year to your life; I’m aiming for 120 at least. My secret, I laugh every time I smile. It brings me warmth in the winter and cool calmness in the summer. It makes my mistakes bearable for the day, and less daunting at night. The music, the laughter; it all makes the difference for a guy like me. It’s the difference between hunger and a full tummy, and the difference between comfort and distress.
My guitar is my rock. The rhythm it generates, my lifeline. It pulls me in when I drift off and away, and lets me loose when I need an escape. They put the food in my mouth, fueling me up for another long day. They put the breakfast change in my hat; they put the couples in their dark depths; they put the meal makers where I enjoy them most. When the day is rough and the moral is down, I will not beg for these pieces. My pride is what fuels my fire; I have the pride to accept things as they are whether good or bad. I will not beg, even if dinner is still my favorite time.

Critique 1

Music. It comes from so many different places; comes in such a variety of forms; evolves with time. Music is a rollercoaster of emotions, some happy, some sad, some hopeful, some hopeless.
Music is a mural waiting to be drawn, a blank canvas free for anyone to enhance it with whatever they please. It is a variety of styles spilled into one intangible form of art that joins the most unlikely of things together.

Strings, brass, vibrations, skins, air, wood, echoes; all join together to create a harmony or a melody that soothes the ears it touches. Music is a rollercoaster.
The Evolution of American Music, a mural created by the Pennsylvanian Mural Arts Program depicts the ellegant transformation of music throughout time. The creator of so many instruments, the tree, wrapped by its offspring and those influenced by the original pieces. The artists creates a surreal environment where music is the basis of everything, sprawled across the ground and winding in and around society. The advances in music are shown aswell, from woodwork instruments to technologically advanced recorders, synthesizers etc. Music has changed so much with time, and continues to do so constantly.

Evolution of Music ....

I'm going to look at the evolution of music through album covers (the epic, the bland, the controversial, the random etc.) along with hopefully some other pieces of art from earlier times that relate to music in some way. I've grown up listening to music of all sorts and have always been amazed at how fast the sounds change, styles change, and images change. It's due to that that I have decided to do my concept folio on the evolution of music. I think it would be exciting to document the changes of time and evolution of the music, through pieces of art.